To be so freakin' insecure-what a waste of air,

I always seem to disappoint, and no one seems to care.

Feeling like a foreigner, no matter where I go,

I thought I once deserved a chance-I guess it isn't so.

There's one thing I know how to do-annoy those in my life,

God, what a shitty mother, daughter, friend, and wife.

Always like a hamster on a stationary wheel,

Physical pain-it seems to be the only way I feel.

Jumping out a window-now that sounds like a solution,

I'm sure I won't get blamed for death-just for the pollution.

I wish that I could run away-by taking lots of drugs,

Or maybe get amnesia-getting beat up by some thugs.

I could also drink myself to death-by climbing in a bottle,

Or jump in front of a speeding car, fully on the throttle.

Or even go to sleep quietly with a bit of CO2,

Or dangle from the rafters-until I turn all blue.

But the sickest thing about my life is that I have to live,

So others can take and take and take 'til there's nothing left to give.

See, I believe I have to live so I can truly suffer,

I'm opting for the full impact-death is but a buffer.

So if you haven't got the picture, I don't think much of Missy,

But rarely breathe a word of this; the world is much too busy.

To hear about all my boo-hoo's, or how I wish I'd die,

Or to see the silent constant tears from my heart, my soul, my eyes.